


a little raw honesty

by ignitesthestars



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10094630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: “You are not a Grisha.”The truth of those words beats through her skull worse than any pain. She can feel her body attempting to curl in on itself, as though she can be protected from the raw honesty in Zoya’s voice, but she’s pinned. Exposed and vulnerable to whatever Zoya chooses to throw at her.“You are not a Grisha,” and her voice trembles on the repetition. “It is not your job to save us anymore.”





	

Zoya keeps the _parem_ in the top drawer of her desk. Alina can just barely see the mahogany wood over the deep blue forearm pushed into her throat.

“You really are as stupid as you look if you think I’m letting you get your hands on that stuff,” the older woman snarls. 

They’re flush together, Alina caught between the hard stone of her office wall and the hard planes of Zoya’s body. Her ribs ache with the memory of the damage she can do; she bucks anyway, heaving with all her strength to throw the other girl off.

She’s not the sick, sad girl she once was. She may be less than useless in this current crisis, but she at least has the power and muscle of her own body behind her. Zoya refuses to give way so she rears back as far as she can and headbutts her, the sharp crack and blinding pain reverberating through her simultaneously.

But Alina breaks free. And for one brief, breathless moment, her goal is in reach. She shoves off wall and runs for the desk, fingers just barely brushing the wood as her legs prepare to vault her over--

The surge of wind comes up from nowhere and pays no heed to comfort as it slams into Alina. She’s flying for half a second and then the ground punches all of the air out of her lungs. A second crack shoots through her head and the world explodes in white as the back of her skull collides with the floor seconds after her back. A low cry splits Alina’s lips, and she’s not sure if it’s pain or desperation.

Zoya stands over her, beautiful face twisted in something that looks like it’s trying to be anger, that feels like something else entirely. The weight of wind pushes down on her so hard that Alina thinks she might just pass out, which honestly sounds like the preferable option right now. Anything not to see the expression on Zoya’s face.

“You are not a Grisha.”

The truth of those words beats through her skull worse than any pain. She can feel her body attempting to curl in on itself, as though she can be protected from the raw honesty in Zoya’s voice, but she’s pinned. Exposed and vulnerable to whatever Zoya chooses to throw at her.

“You are not a Grisha,” and her voice trembles on the repetition. “It is not your job to save us anymore.” 

It’s definitely not anger living there, but _that_ truth is so much worse. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She especially doesn’t want to hurt Zoya. 

“But I can,” she croaks. “You know I can.”

“I know that stuff will _kill you_.”

“It’s killing everyone else! It’s just doing it slower, and I can put a stop to this Zoya. I can protect all of you.”

One perfectly manicured hand bunches in the fabric of her shift, and the wind relents. Alina struggles to get her feet under her as Zoya drags her up until they’re face to face, but the world is spinning too fast and her body feels too heavy. She can barely hold her own weight up, let alone deal with Zoya.

“We do not need an _otkazat’sya_ to protect us.”

Each syllable is picked out in perfect cruelty, but Zoya has made a terrible misjudgement. It’s not that the words don’t carve a chunk out of Alina’s soul, but that her friend holds the knife with such care.

The true depths of cruelty are born from love, and that’s what trembles behind the angry front of Zoya’s voice. Love, and the terror of losing it. If she didn’t care, if she really believed Alina was worthless, she’d just let her do it. Hell, this was Zoya; she’d probably hand the _parem_ herself. She wasn’t above making sacrifices to achieve a goal, not when that goal was the defense of Ravka and all the Grisha in her borders.

Alina sags. And Zoya is there to catch her, fingers unwind from her shirt and pulling her close. The wary tension doesn’t disappear from Zoya’s form, but the fight has run out of Alina. She presses her forehead into the other woman’s shoulder, breathing in the cinnamon scent of her.

“Let me help.” She’s begging, and she hates it. The last person she wants to be weak in front of is this woman.

“I will not.” Zoya’s hand is in her hair, her lips on her forehead. “Hate me if you need to. There are only so many things in this war I can stand to lose.”


End file.
